


Like we are in the present

by lesbleusthroughandthrough



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Fluff, Liverpool F.C., M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-09 00:48:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15255738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbleusthroughandthrough/pseuds/lesbleusthroughandthrough
Summary: Adam, who had had a prolonged experience of Jordan’s moping despite never complaining about it, was now holding up his hand and appeared to begin counting down Dejan’s multitude of sins.“You went out for five years,” he began, holding out the first finger, “then,” he raised a second, “you came home one day to find him with another guy in your bed, and,” a third, “he kicked you out when you broke up,” a fourth, “told you he didn’t actually want to be with you anyway,” a fifth, “right after you’d made a soppy love declaration to try and save the relationship.”-My ex comes by to pick up their things and you come by after your shift at work and now my ex thinks you are my new boyfriend, let’s play it cool AU or I finally wrote a whole story in less than four thousand words!!





	Like we are in the present

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mm_nani](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mm_nani/gifts).



> This work is for Nani who holds my hand a lot, also I feel like I've owed you a gift for a while now.
> 
> I wrote this whole thing in like two hours I'm sorry if any of it doesn't make any sense, minimum editing has taken place. Also I'm sorry Dejan, I keep making you my villain but you're such a GOOD villain. 
> 
> The title had to be from [2002 by Anne-Marie](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Il-an3K9pjg) because I listened to it on a loop while writing this story.

 

Jordan had been so fully expecting, when the bell went, that it was the slightly forgetful HR manager he shared this apartment with forgetting his keys again. He buzzed him up, not thinking any better of it. He’d only just woken up from his nap, after all, having only come home from the hospital at lunchtime. By his calculations it was nearly time for his roommate to be home and, by extension, make some actual food in their kitchen that Jordan could nick.

When the knock came at the door he made to open it and was even looking down at the level he expected his eyes to be met, the forgetfulness retort ready to roll off his tongue. But they fell level with someone else’s chest. He knew who it was, before his neck had even snapped up and before his blood had a chance to run cold.

“Hendo,” Dejan said, in that soft voice he’d only reserved for the two of them.

Jordan grew roots. Nothing could move him from the door. Dejan was _not_ meant to be here.

Dejan proffered the plastic storage box he’d been carrying in his hands.

“This is the last of your stuff,” he said, in the same, soft voice. “I didn’t think you were coming for it.”

Jordan hadn’t been planning on it. Through the frosted plastic he saw the edges of assorted knick-knacks he hadn’t considered worth the journey: old mugs, a squished looking succulent, a hand towel. Because he didn’t care particularly for any of it, and he knew Dejan was aware of this, his brain moved on – as fast as it could, given the circumstances – to the next, logical conclusion.

“What do you want?” he snapped, coldly.

Dejan looked hurt. Overly hurt.

“Hendo,” he tried again, “please.” He paused, then his tone changed a little. “I know you have my varsity jumper.”

Jordan did, indeed, have Dejan’s stupid jumper; Dejan’s stupid jumper that had smelled like him, was as soft as him. On his last day in their apartment Jordan had taken it to have something of Dejan’s, anything of his that would numb him to the reality of their break up. But also, given how Dejan had so ruthlessly tugged the rug from under him, Jordan had taken it a little on purpose: carried it away, a trophy.

“I don’t have it,” he lied now, blithely.

A month ago, when this had all started, he might have caved and retrieved it from where he knew it was in the bottom of his drawer. But he wasn’t the same guy he’d been a month ago.

“Could you look for it?” Dejan said it with all the self-assuredness of someone who recognised a lie. “It’s my only memento from the rowing team. We’re having a reunion next month.”

Jordan knew he should shut the door on him. He _knew,_ he had imagined being given such a fantastic opportunity to slam the door in Dejan’s face so often that it kept him up at night.

“I’ll have a look,” he said, and moved away from the door to let Dejan in. He heard the lock click when Dejan closed it, but he already knew he’d made a terrible mistake.

Dejan pulling up a stool to sit on in his kitchen was jarring. It was a space he associated with Dejan’s definite absence, for a start. And he sat there, so relaxed, as though he had no reason to be unwelcome.

“I’ll make tea,” Jordan said quietly, giving Dejan a wide berth as he walked around the counter. He could already feel that great, yawning hole to the depths of his misery opening up inside him and he had just spent the last month patching it up.

A month. It had only been a month.

“You look good, Hendo,” Dejan offered, one long arm propped up on the counter. The sound of the rumbling kettle filled the space.

Jordan had had it on good authority from several sources recently that he did not, actually, look _good_. Only _better_.  And even by that only marginally. He could only grunt in response, wishing the old, limey kettle would boil faster so he could make the tea and disappear to his room.

He wondered if Dejan was here to… no. No, Dejan couldn’t be here as a peace offering, and he forced the fluttering hope back down his throat. He only wanted his jumper back, and besides, it scared Jordan how much he wanted to erase the last few weeks, everything that had happened, and for it all to go back to the two of them being hopelessly in love.

He even wanted to forget how Dejan had made it plain that there had never been _two_ of them in that state.

The sound of the key over-twisting in the front door lock made him jump, and he thought, flooded with relief: _Adam’s home_.

Dejan made a confused face and turned to look, as Jordan’s roommate emerged from the hall where he’d been clattering loudly against his bicycle, his tie loose and his satchel still strapped around his shoulder and even, his trouser ends still tucked into his socks for the bike.

Adam must have heard the kettle boiling, because he turned around, started to say: “I always knew there was a reason you’re my _favourite_ nurse – “, and stopped when he saw Dejan. The joke died very abruptly on his face.

“Adam,” Jordan said, turning to take mugs out of his cupboard so when Adam’s stare of horror switched from Dejan to him he wouldn’t have to face it, “this is Dejan. Dejan this is Adam, he lives here.”

“Hi,” Dejan said, giving Adam a million-dollar smile and holding out his hand. Adam took it to shake, and slowly seemed to come out of his state of utter shock. It must have been Dejan’s smile, it did have that effect on people.

“Nice to meet you,” Adam said, but didn’t add to it. He was being unflappably polite despite knowing who Dejan was and what Dejan had done, and Jordan, for the first time since he’d met the guy, understood why he was the manager in a human resources department.

“Dejan’s asked me to look for something,” he said, when Adam and Dejan had dropped hands and looked like they might be about to break out in polite conversation. “Adam, you can have my tea.”

He disappeared down the corridor to his room and closed the door over behind him, _finally_ found some space to take a deep breath.

He sank to his knees in front of his chest of drawers and heaved the bottom one open. He’d tucked Dejan’s jumper in the corner – it was a deep green, non-descript, with the logo of Dejan’s rowing team on the front and the list of his teammates on the back. Jordan paused and almost like a habit he buried his nose into the fabric.

He knew it would come: the self-indulgent kick in the stomach, the rush of memories, _overwhelming_. He waited for it and braced himself.

But it didn’t happen, because his bedroom door flung open and he got quickly to his feet. _Caught_.

It wasn’t Dejan. It was Adam, which was somehow worse.

Adam shut the door quietly behind him before he marched across the room.

“What are you _doing_?” he hissed, blazing and demanding, which was a lot more like the Adam he lived with and had come to know. “You were just going to let him _walk in here?_ ”

“I…” Jordan started, but didn’t get to finish. Adam’s fury was understandable. He’d inherited Jordan as an empty shell that had responded to his roommate advert, and had been one of the more instrumental aspects of his recovery: at first, just lengthening talks as they crossed paths in the kitchen, and then progressing to Jordan only really leaving his room when he heard Adam knocking around after work. Until finally Jordan felt nearly human again, and they had almost never talked about Dejan anymore, and he’d let Adam bring him to his local five-a-side, had amalgamated Adam’s circle of friends into his own.

Which is why Adam, who had had a prolonged experience of Jordan’s moping despite never complaining about it, was now holding up his hand and appeared to begin counting down Dejan’s multitude of sins.

“You went out for five years,” he began, holding out the first finger, “then,” he raised a second, “you came home one day to find him with another guy _in your bed_ , and,” a third, “he kicked _you_ out when you broke up,” a fourth, “told you he didn’t actually want to be with you anyway,” a fifth, “ _right_ after you’d made a soppy love declaration to try and save the relationship.”

Jordan winced. This _hurt_. Adam went to raise his other hand, apparently to continue counting, when he burst out: “ _stop_.” _Ow._ “Please… stop,” his voice wobbled a bit.

“How _dare_ he,” Adam said, turning to address the closed bedroom door, “show up here.”

“He came for this,” Jordan held up his jumper. “He wanted it back, but I told him I didn’t have it.”

Adam looked at it for a long minute, his eyes enormous. He looked at Jordan now, still all googly-eyed.

“I know,” Jordan said, hot shame washing over his entire being: he felt, somehow, that if he hadn’t let himself down he’d certainly let _Adam_ down by falling so abruptly off this wagon. “I couldn’t… let go. But I don’t want him here,” he realised.

He’d been… fine. He had really been doing fine, busy in a job he loved and with a roommate he enjoyed hanging out with, and his friends had rallied around him and he’d never felt more _fine_. It hadn’t been until Dejan had showed up today that he’d realised how low he’d been.

No wonder Adam stood there, practically _quivering_ he was so livid.

“I’m sorry,” Jordan said in a small, embarrassed voice, “you probably don’t want to hear any more about this – “

Adam reached out and curled his hand around Jordan’s elbow and shook it a little. His touch was startlingly soft and insistent, and Jordan stared at it, wondering why this confused him.

“Look,” Adam said, “none of this is your fault, okay? I’m your mate, and I’ve got your back.”

Jordan almost saw the lightbulb go off behind his eyes.

“Also, I’ve just thought about how we could get rid of him.” Adam’s mouth spread into an absolutely devilish grin, and Jordan knew that Adam having ideas was always dangerous – he had actually seen the guy try and put chocolate into pasta once – but he felt overwhelming relief, suddenly, that he was on his side.

Adam held his gaze for a second, his eyes replete with boldness. He placed a finger on his lips and went back over to push the door gently open.

Jordan watched, confused, as Adam peeled off his wingtips and clambered onto the edge of Jordan’s bed.

 _What are you doing?_ Jordan mouthed.

Adam motioned for him to be quiet again and then very deliberately, bounced down onto the bed. The rusty mattress springs – which haunted Jordan long into his sleepless nights – creaked, and echoed through the apartment. No doubt, Adam had been able to hear him roll around at night through the walls, but Jordan couldn’t afford a better mattress at the moment.

Not that this was any _clue_ as to what Adam was doing.

Adam must have seen his face because he shoved his fist into his mouth to quell the laughter. And then he deliberately bounced again. He paused, and seemed to count to something in his head. Then he jumped a little again.

Jordan felt himself frown.

 _What?_ He motioned again, just as Adam made another loud, creaking bounce. Adam shook his head forcefully and looked like he was going to be sick if he didn’t let himself laugh soon. Jordan had never seen him have such a good time, and he’d thought Adam was meant to be helping him with his problem with Dejan, and _not_ jumping up and down on the bed, acting like a five-year-old in a bouncy castle.

Adam’s grin grew even wider, now _bright red_ with silent laughter. He started to bounce a little faster.

“What are you _doing_?” Jordan hissed it this time, as he tried to grab Adam’s arm and pull him from the bed, “he’s going to be wondering why we decided to start jumping on the bed instead of – “

And then it hit him. It hit him really hard. And then he felt _really stupid._

Adam wasn’t trying to make it sound like they were jumping on the bed together. Oh no. He was trying to make it sound down in the kitchen, for all intents and purposes, as though _they were doing something else totally different in Jordan’s bed._

Adam saw this dawn on his face and cracked. “How long do you last, huh?” And he began to bounce faster and faster now, as if to indicate: _climax._

“Adam!” Jordan gasped, mortified. “ _Adam, don’t!_ ” He clambered onto the bed, Adam dancing from foot to foot now, and grabbed at him into a half tackle as the both sprawled back: Adam with a surprised cry of delight, Jordan, who had taken Adam’s elbow in the ribs; with a grunt of actual pain as they collapsed.

It took him a minute to gather himself, have the energy to lift his head from the duvet. Mostly the movement was brought on because he had fallen flat, right on top of Adam who was wriggling quite uncomfortably under him. And Jordan scowled at him.

“What are you playing at?” he snapped. He wanted to say: _Dejan isn’t going to believe we were having sex._

But nothing could dampen Adam’s mood: his face lit up like a sun; bright red from exertion, grin stretching around his silent laughter, nestled into the sheet.

And then something strange happened. Maybe it was the combination of another body right up to him – because it had been too long, really – or the thought of the exact activity Adam had been insinuating and the fact he looked, right now, like he had just been taking part in.

A strange sensation ticked down his spine, drew tension from every one of his muscles, sucked blood right into the space between his hips.

“Is that your stethoscope, or are you just happy to see me?” Adam asked, breathless.

“I’m a _nurse_ ,” Jordan hissed, furious at his body betraying him so _obviously_. “I’ve already told you, I don’t have a stethoscope.” He quickly lifted his body up to let Adam out from under him. Adam didn’t move away, preferring to prop himself up onto his elbows. Some well-waxed strands of hair flopped free onto his forehead.

“Could’ve fooled _me_ ,” he said. He sounded _pleased._ Just _so pleased._ He was, obviously, never going to let Jordan live this down.

“We shouldn’t have done that,” Jordan said, still snapping. He tried to tell himself to get up, to roll away, but the same forces that were giving him an erection from lying on top of his roommate refused to let him. “It wasn’t even that convincing.”

“It didn’t have to be one hundred percent convincing,” Adam said, lazily. “Just like, eighty percent. Even sixty would do.” He snorted. “I didn’t trust myself to fake any noises, but maybe that worked in our favour.”

“ _Our favour?_ ”

“Yes,” Adam said, pleasantly. One of his knees drew up, rested a little too easily against the outside of Jordan’s hip. “Here, look, we’re going to need one more finishing touch – “

Before Jordan could react, or question it, Adam lifted one of his hands from the bed, placed it around the back of Jordan’s head and dragged it up through his hair – to make it stand on end, Jordan realised. And Adam did it again, shaking his fingers through Jordan’s hair where it thickened, and letting out a small, delighted noise.

Jordan spiralled. He thought: _maybe it’s because I’ve been craving for touch, from anything._ He thought: _it’s because Adam has been kind to me that I want him_. And through all of this he thought about all the times – in a brief, blurring flashback – Adam had been there for him since they’d started living together as total strangers. Adam had been so exceptionally patient, so exceptionally kind – even now. It was almost… as though…

He felt his body shift. He stretched, closer. Adam’s eyes drew into his, they fell heavy, swept over his face, lingered on his lips. The hand in Jordan’s hair dragged down behind his ear, drew along the underside of his jaw, thumbed at his chin. Everything about it gave Jordan express permission.

How had Jordan not seen it before? It was like he’d been slugged by a brick. Adam was nice. Adam had warm, brown eyes that stretched forever. Adam was one of the only people he’d ever felt comfortable talking to for hours, and hours. Christ, even when his friends had been telling him the only way to get over Dejan was to get out there and under someone else, hadn’t Jordan full on refused, left the pub early and gone home for a quiet beer with Adam?

“Huh,” Adam said, “I _knew_ it wasn’t your stethoscope.”

“ _Adam_ ,” Jordan whispered, desperately. His emotions were doing backflips through hoops, it wasn’t a time for _jokes_.

“Yes?” Adam asked it on a breath. The air sizzled. Jordan leaned the rest of the way in and pressed a kiss the whole way into his lips.

It had been a long time since he’d kissed someone new. The experience didn’t jolt him as much as welcome him. Adam’s lips were very warm, and they moved against him very tentatively. It was soft, experimental: Jordan only probed to make sure his hunch was right. But the way he was received, the way Adam’s hand slid right back into his hair and remained, even when the brief venture ended – it told him a lot more about himself.

Adam spoke, his voice tight as he met Jordan’s eyes. Jordan had never seen him look so serious.

“He doesn’t deserve you,” he said, quietly. The words hung in the air.

It took Jordan too long, on what was already looking like a slow afternoon, to remember Dejan: sitting on one of his kitchen stools still, somewhere in a whole different universe.

A muddle of feelings chose then to hit him very hard in the chest, and he sat up quickly, scrambling to his feet to put some distance into establishing the situation.

“I’m sorry,” he started, although it felt like a weird thing to say, because he wasn’t exactly sure what he was meant to be sorry about, with Adam smiling at him all softly like that: lifting himself up from the sheet with his tie skew and his shirt rumpled. “I didn’t mean – “

“It’s fine,” Adam said. And it was: Jordan waited for the banging percussion of emotions he associated with romance but it was just… fine. Nothing about what had just happened felt weird. If anything, that was the weirdest part.

Adam looked at him carefully. “Listen,” he said, slowly, “I know, he’s there and you weren’t… over it, so I couldn’t – “

“No,” Jordan cut across _him_ now. He grinned a wide, stupid grin of relief, answered by Adam’s wide, stupid grin of relief. “It’s _fine_.”

Adam got up now and scooped Dejan’s jumper from the floor. Jordan must have thrown it away as he went to grab Adam. _What a stupid metaphor that turned out to be._

“Do you want to do the honours,” Adam asked, “or will I?” He held it out.

Jordan took it off him, marvelled for a second on just how little he suddenly felt about it, and looked back at Adam.

Adam gave him a small nod of encouragement.

 _Just how long has he been waiting,_ Jordan wondered, _for me to come to my senses?_

He marched out towards the kitchen. He felt tall, and certainly as tall as Dejan, who was standing beside the stool and looked a little pale.

“Hendo,” he started, before Jordan pushed the jumper quite firmly into his chest.

“I’ll show you out,” he said. He saw Dejan looking over his shoulder and imagined he saw Adam, resplendent and gloriously rumpled, following him out of his room.

He guided Dejan back out to the front door before he could say another word, undid the lock and stood back to let him out.

Dejan stopped in the threshold.

“I, uh,” he began, looking a very satisfactory level of uncomfortable, then: “you do look good, Hendo, you know. With him.”

A month of desolation, anger and loneliness flared up in Jordan’s throat. “Goodbye,” he said coolly, and shut the door.

The anger dissipated immediately. He thought, _I only feel relieved that I never have to see him again._

And as the door shut on one problem, it opened on another, which was sitting waiting for him in the kitchen. Jordan thought, as he made his way back towards Adam, that he was quite looking forward to solving this one for a change.

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe I managed to keep this short!! Did you like it?? Should I write more short stories?? Comments, concrit, it's all appreciated. You can also yell at me on [tumblr](http://lesbleusthroughandthrough.tumblr.com/).


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